I hate to open with a downer, but bear with me.
On a personal level, my 2018 was crushing. I lost both my brother and mother, only months apart. This summer, after we finished clearing out my mom's apartment, my sister handed me a green, cloth-covered storage box. "You should have this," she said. Hesitantly, I looked inside. The box contained a vast collection of stories I've written for newspapers and magazines, including many from this publication, dating back to my J-school days in the early 1990s. The stack included photocopies, pages cut out, and a number of full print editions that I don't even recall giving her. She saved all this?
I quickly zippered the box shut and haven't opened it since. The pain of losing her to cancer is still too fresh.
I've thought a lot about that box recently. Its contents are in my thoughts as I embark on this next chapter of my journalism career. I have the honor to edit a magazine that I've long admired, and had the privilege of contributing to for more than 15 years. All those stories—some good, and some I'll surely cringe at—trace the journey that led me to this point.
I thought about the box, too, while reading writer Brennen Jensen's delightful recounting of The Johns Hopkins Science Review, a relic of the first golden age of TV that in itself serves as a time capsule of how far we've come in our understanding of the world, and what we can learn from the past. Johns Hopkins' history is replete with pioneers like the show's host Lynn Poole, who deserve to be brought to light and celebrated now and again. I thought now was the time.
My opener aside, I hope you enjoy this issue. And mom, this one will go in the box, too. I know you would have put it there.
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